Want, Take, Have
by Lily Martin
Summary: Justin’s a smart boy, he saw through Mayweather’s ploy, they just don’t like making movies where the bad guy gets off. Walking free, thank God for double jeopardy laws, new evidence won't matter, it’s time to make a new life. JustinOC


Title: Want, Take, Have.

By: Lily Martin

Rating: M

Disclaimer: I don't own Justin, Richard, or Justin's new look (based off of how Michael Pitt looks in some of his band pictures, just not in clothing), nor do I own Mayweather or Lisa. All the Murder By Number characters are owned by…whatever company owns the movie, I don't have the box at school with me, just a CD case filled with movies. Everyone else is mine, the plot's mine.

Summary: Justin's a smart boy, he saw through Mayweather's ploy, they just don't like making movies where the bad guy gets off. Walking free, thank God for double jeopardy laws, it's time to make a new life. Justin/OC eventually.

A/N: So yea, I'm just starting college, actually, I'm at a Pre-Freshman Program right now, and in two weeks actual classes will be starting. This is just a heads up that updating might be stinted after these first couple chapters.

_Got a big plan, this mindset maybe its right  
__At the right place and right time, maybe tonight  
__And the whisper or handshake sending a sign  
__Wanna make out and kiss hard, wait never mind_

_She Wants Revenge – "Tear You Apart"_

School had ended, and he had missed that last month due to the trial. The summer had gone by, with him being dragged around the country by his father. School was starting up again, and he'd be there, just at a different school in a different place on the opposite side of the country.

He'd gotten off, of course he had, and they couldn't prove he'd murdered anyone. There wasn't a tape; he knew there wasn't a tape. Detective Mayweather had been fishing, and she'd failed to catch him on the actual murders.

_He watched her whispering with her partner. She said she'd try to get him charged as a juvenile, but he didn't trust or believe her._

"_Justin, you need to tell me what happened," she said, sitting down beside him again. "My partner just told me they found a tape, apparently Richard taped the murder."_

"_A tape?" he questioned slowly, careful not to reveal anything._

_There _had_ been a tape. He'd discovered it on his way out of Richard's house to dispose of the body. He'd also taken it with him. Then, he'd watched it burn with rest of the evidence._

"_Well then you know," he whispered, as though he were going to confess finally, he'd catch her on her lie._

"_Yeah, it shows everything," she replied, in the most open tone a person could use when they thought they were talking to a murderer._

"_Good," he said, nodding once quickly._

"_Good?" She seemed surprised._

_She hadn't seen the real tape. If he hadn't watched it burn, this would have proved it. He could put all the blame on Richard and create enough reasonable doubt to get him off of a murder charge. Richard would've done the same._

"_What do you think the charges will be?" he asked, using the knowledge that she was just trying to get him to compromise himself to his advantage, as he gave her the most worried look he could manage._

"_They're charging you with murder, Justin," she told him, as though he should've already known._

They did try him with murder, and his father sent in the best lawyers he could get. They were good lawyers too, flown in from New York, where his father lived. His two lawyers were better than the one the Haywoods had hired to make sure the blame was all on him rather than their deceased son. Enough doubt was created by the fact that he'd consistently maintained that Richard did it, and Lisa's testimony had helped, especially since everything he'd told her had always pointed to Richard as the lead. They could've gotten him on a lesser crime, but the determination to get him on murder was the same thing that got him the lovely 'not guilty' verdict.

After the trial, there was no possible way for him to stay in town, of course. Everyone was talking, and there was a disagreement going on about letting him repeat his senior year. There wasn't, however, any disagreement from anyone that he needed to repeat his senior year, despite the high grades he'd maintained right until being pulled out of school for the trial. Finally, his parents had decided that he would go live with his father. Actually, his father had made the decision, but his mother couldn't argue that it would be better for him to stay in California.

The three months of summer went by quickly. His father worked in public relations at least that was as far into detail that he'd bothered to explain, and every other week he was flying out on another business trip. He'd dragged his son to nearly every major city in the county, as well as several cities in Europe. Despite living just outside of L.A. most of his life, Justin quickly formed a good idea of his surroundings from frequency of L.A. as his father's business destination, with London following up quickly on the list of cities that Justin could navigate alone.

His time spent in New York had been used productively, planning and preparing, plans that were practiced and perfected in every city he visited. He wouldn't be one of the Justin's of the world anymore, instead he modeling his new self after his deceased best friend. It was the perfect memorial he could think of, and the only one that wouldn't end up hindering him.

He could pull it off, and knew it very well. He'd memorized Richard over the years, the way he acted, his style, everything and anything possible. He started smoking, purchased a whole new wardrobe over the course of the first month with his father, and began learning to use the nearly limitless credit on the card his father gave him. It wasn't terribly difficult to mimic the boy he'd known so well. However some things would have to be his own, like the hair he let grow out over the summer, and the light scruff that quickly formed along his jaw line when he didn't shave.

The first time he tried out this new persona was in a small, exclusively popular club in LA. He was cautiously accepted into a group filled with guys that reminded him of his late friend, yet somehow came off even cockier than Richard ever had. It made it all the easier for him to step up and act the same, though, if only for the familiarity of it. The next night he went back, filled with confidence for the success his experiment yielded the night before, and overnight he had established a group of people to hang with in LA.

Things turned out to be working in his favor, when he let it slip during his second trip to LA, after meeting this new group, he was going to Miami. Immediately, they'd commandeered his new cell phone and began filling it (and making calls of introduction) with numbers to similar groups of friends in major cities around the country. He was connected. They were the extreme versions of Richard, located around the world, all quickly working their ways towards the Black American Express card Richard's parents never would've been able to handle him carrying.

"_You see, there's a difference between rich kids. We're the rich ones that are easily a few months away from meeting the hundred and fifty thousand minimum of the Black Express in the six months since we turned eighteen," one girl explained, as they sat around the apartment of a guy named Jack with glasses of absinthe. "It's a given that we'll be invited to carry that card by college, and it's a given that we'll always meet the yearly minimum."_

"_Then there are your small town rich kids, who's parents encourage them to spend money, just not in the same excess as we do," another girl continued, dropping down beside him on the floor in front of a dark colored couch._

"_Yeah, I used to live next door to one of those kids," he told them, taking the final step to disassociate his friend from an anecdote._

"_We used to think you were the latter. You didn't seem to know the ropes we know, seemed a little unsure of using money for everything."_

"_Really?" He betrayed nothing, just faked surprise._

"_Don't worry, Pendleton, you've proved yourself. Here, give me your phone," Jack continued, holding out his hand expectantly. Justin did as told, watching as the other teen took out his own phone. "Here, I'm adding in the number for one of my good friends in New York. You'll probably meet him at school, but he's a little high strung." There was laughter. "Just drop my name and you'll be cool. Of course, he and his group are in Europe for the summer that's why I didn't give you the number sooner."_

From that night on, he was set. He hadn't had any number for New York, and clubbing been a bland experience compared to everywhere else he'd been given numbers. During his time in the Big Apple, he'd spent much of it building up his own library in one of the rooms his father had given him. He'd enjoyed his time being himself, and had almost dreaded the completion of the lie he'd built everywhere else. It'd be final once he had joined the group in New York.

Over the course of the summer, he'd realized how much he'd taken for granted the freedom he'd had to be himself. He'd taken for granted how much Richard had accepted him. Yes, sure, his best friend had been an asshole to him in front of everyone else. Hover, that was a small lie compared to the one he had built over the course of the summer. Sure, sex, drugs, alcohol, clubbing, actually having a group of friends, hell, even having fun with a group of people—these things were all great, helping to make the lie easier, but it wasn't everything he wanted. He wanted a girl that didn't sleep around with the group of friends without a care. He wanted to just hang out in a secret place again and not be watched by everyone. It wasn't unknown that he had joined the fast crowd. The tabloids carried photos of him with his new friends every couple weeks, and he thanked the gods that he wouldn't turn eighteen till November, making entire murder case closed to the public, as he was a minor during the whole thing.


End file.
